


Momentum

by hellkitty



Category: Elysium (2013)
Genre: Angst, Community: angst_bingo, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-25 00:51:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/pseuds/hellkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, hey, Angst-bingo prompt 'failure'. Ref to canon-character death, mid-canon. Also, predictably, angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Momentum

He couldn't help but feel he was running away.  Because he was, in every literal sense: he was running, and moving away from where Julio's body lay, blood caking through his dingy tank top, dust clotting on his still open eyes that had stared, expressionlessly, into Max's as he'd begged him to move, to get up.  

Julio was gone. Julio was dead, and it was Max's fault, as sure as if he'd killed him himself. Juliio wouldn't even have been there if it hadn't been for Max.

Max slowed, the rhythm of the hissing pistons faltering, stuttering down to a jog, then a limping hustle, moving away, not looking back, trying--and failing--not to think.

The worst part was that Max had thought he was doing Julio a favor: a job, a big one, with Spider; money; and his own ticket to Elysium.  He'd thought it would make up for Julio's help, for Julio having to take care of him, press the Miprolol into his hands and pretend not to see the babyish tears in Max's eyes as he told Julio he was dying.

But it hadn't struck him, until he'd looked into those dark brown eyes, flat with death, that...Julio had never wanted to go to Elysium. Never, in all their talks, drunk or sober, in juvie or out, had Julio said he wanted to go, he wanted to leave Earth.  Sure, he hated the favelas, who didn’t?, but not enough to leave it that far: Julio dreamed of building himself up, like Spider had, giving himself freedom and power, a little at a time, the way you build a rep, slow but solid. Not like a ticket to the orbiting torus, like magic showered down upon the undeserving.

Elysium had always been Max's dream, Max's hope, Max's desperation, and Julio...had just wanted Max to be happy.  

Max stopped, limbs just...slowing, as though they were too heavy to move, as though moving forward was just mindless motion that required more energy than he had.  And he felt it all crash upon him again, the radiation-sickness’s leaching weakness, the weight of the exo-suit pressing against him, a tangle of dark limbs and struts, and the dull, hot throb of the wound in his side, prickling with sweat, blood sticky and crusting and he could smell it from here, the rank sweat of fear, the coppery tang of blood, even over the metallic cleanness of the pistons, the contrast of human and machine, dirt and clean, almost making him dizzy.  

Max staggered, metal of a knee plate thunking against the concrete, one palm scraping a wall as he struggled for balance. Everything felt like too much: pain, smell, the low slanting blades of setting sunlight, the usual chaos of the dirty streets, and above all, the weight of Julio’s death, Julio’s sacrifice, almost crushing him.

But what do you do? Really? What is the right thing, the good thing, the decent thing, when your closest friend gives his life for your dream, for your hope?  Lie down and die under the misery and guilt?  Go back and get killed, die alongside him?  Or get up, and move, forward, always forward, trying to honor what he gave by making it, by succeeding, even though it felt like the worst selfishness?

There was no good answer, no right answer, but Max groaned, shoving himself back upright with a flare of something like anger, and began moving again, foot in front of foot, slow at first, and wobbly, but moving, gathering purpose like some fierce momentum. 


End file.
